That’s enough - I can’t read this shit anymore! When a book starts to feel like a weight around the neck, like it’s work, when you look at the number of pages left and groan - yeah, that’s the time to walk away from it. So I’m calling it at page 480 out of 870 or so - no more. No more 4321, no more Paul Auster in fact. I used to be a huge fan but not anymore. 4321 has convinced me that former me was plain wrong about him or he used to be good and he’s just deteriorated shockingly in his old age.
4321 is the same story told four slightly different ways. So, yes, it’s repetitive but kinda interesting in the slight changes that happen in each that leads to completely different trajectories. And then the repetitions became too much for me.
These are the stories of Archie Ferguson (basically Paul Auster - like nearly all his books, he’s the protagonist) and his family. Born in the 1940s, he comes of age in the early ‘60s, the time of JFK etc. and the book actually wasn’t bad at first - there’s a reason I made it past the halfway point. The stories of Archie’s father and his scheming brothers were alright. Where things got unbearable is where I gave up - Archie as a teenager and Auster seems to have completely stalled in this time zone where it seems like I’ve been reading about the Archies masturbating, fucking their cousins, fucking their schoolmates, fucking prostitutes, dreaming about fucking all of the above, for forever and a fucking day!
To say the least: this shit isn’t interesting, Paul Auster. That’s the main complaint - I just can’t read another irritating page about Archie pining for whoever and then rubbing one out or going to the brothel or whatever. I get it, teenagers = horny lil bastards!
The second and only other one thing I’ll mention? The obnoxiously lengthy sentences. I contemplated copying out an example here so you’d get an idea of just what I’m talking about but I cannot be bothered - just take my word for it that the sentences are literally page-long, and sometimes multi-pages long. Honestly. It’s so unnecessary. FFS, put a full stop in there instead of endless commas! And so much of the shit Auster writes is utterly irrelevant tripe - details that add absolutely nothing to the already glacial narrative! It’s not so bad that you can’t follow what he’s saying but, my word, the sentences don’t need to be this long - punctuation exists for a good reason.
This novel didn’t need to be 870-ish pages long. The narratives aren’t so different that there needed to be four different versions. They’re not even compelling enough to warrant one narrative! 4321 is Auster’s longest novel to date but I think this book shows why he’s so much more effective in shorter novels - unedited, he is an utter bore, rambling on tediously to no end or goal about his youth to no-one’s edification or entertainment. Don’t trouble yourself with this ponderous garbage.
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